Red
by blackkitty95
Summary: (Noir?) AU. They take down everyone who has hurt them, one person at a time. WinterWidow, BuckyNat.


Ta-da, first WinterWidow fic!

Era is free to interpretation. This could be set in the '60s, '70s, '80s, or even in our time. It's entirely up to you, dear reader.

English is not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. Unbeta'd.

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Night has thrown her dark cloak over the world. However, the neon signs light the street in shades green, blue, pink, red, making the whole strip glow.

The city is alive and roaring. Its sounds blend in with the clicking noise of her black pumps as she makes her way down the street. She passes tourists, helpless gamblers, giggling women, and all the sort of people that are attracted by the dazzling lights and the grand promises of the city.

She walks with confidence. Why shouldn't she? She is wearing a black dress that hugs her delicious curves like second skin. It shows just a hint of breasts (seducing people is part of the job, but she will never dress like a slut in order to achieve that; she doesn't want to and she doesn't need to) and ends right above her knees, exposing her creamy calves. Her hands are tucked in shoulder-length black silk gloves, and her full lips are painted the colour of blood.

She walks to the bar with a purpose. She finds it unsurprisingly crowded and stands at the entrance for a moment, letting the smell of cigarettes and alcohol and sweat overwhelm her senses. She walks to the bar, not looking around, knowing what will happen. It has become a routine, but she is not tired of it. She is the best at it and she would not stop doing it for any reason.

She leans over sensuously, invitingly, showing her beautiful curves to anyone who might be interested. She knows that a lot - if not all - of the men in that place are interested and soon enough one of them will dare make the move.

She is not wrong. A man sits next to her and buys her a drink. She knows just when to smile, just when to toss her red hair over her shoulders. She knows how to play him like an instrument.

They talk and flirt. She tells him everything he wants to hear, everything she needs to say in order to keep him wanting her more. It is not difficult. It is not particularly enjoyable either per se, but she does enjoy seeing how easily she can manipulate people and have them wrapped around her little finger.

At some point she tells the man that they should get somewhere more private. He grins like a fool, obviously not believing his luck. She touches his arm, flashing him her most brilliant smile. The fool melts, nods frantically.

They leave the bar. He follows a few steps behind her. She is certain that his hungry eyes are focused on her ass as she walks, watching her as if the swinging of her hips has hypnotised him.

He doesn't care about where they are going as long as he is with her. He doesn't ask any questions. He simply follows, anticipation rising.

They reach a small room at the very back of the building. The moment the door slams closed, she pushes him against the wall and kisses him passionately. He tastes like whiskey. His hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of her body. That's what she hates about what she does. Flirting and seducing is easy. It comes out of her naturally, and it's fun, like a cat playing with a mouse. But this, the way they all paw at her as though she is their property, disgusts her. She tries to give them as little as possible, but she always feels dirty afterwards. Only one person's touch can give her pleasure.

She whispers sweet nothings in his ear. Dirty things, promises of what is to come. His breath quickens at the sound of her words and he clings to her desperately.

Then her words change. She tells him about Russia, about a place called Red Room. The promises she breathes into his ear are no longer pleasant.

Before he can scream for help, she breaks his neck.

She doesn't bother with disposing of the body. The deceased was an important man who would attend an important meeting soon. They will come for him. And they will clean up the mess. This kind of people always do; some things should remain secret.

She leaves from a back door that spills into one of the many back alleys in the city. She fishes a silver compact mirror from her clutch and checks her reflection. She fixes her makeup and starts walking, once again with confidence and purpose. She takes off her gloves and throws them in a bin. Her job is done.

And then she sees him. A genuine smile spreads across her face and she walks towards him.

She pulls him into a hungry kiss before he can say a word. He responds immediately and with equal fervor. His lips are soft, familiar, and oh so delicious. His strong arms wrap themselves around her, protectingly, lovingly. She can't help but think of the first time this happened.

They look at each other. He knows that she is satisfied and that makes him smile. His hand find hers, and they lace together their fingers. They don't say a word as they walk to the hotel. They don't need to. They are comfortable in silence. They enjoy just being side by side, each of them lost in the memories they have painstakingly managed to recover.

When they are inside their hotel room, they kiss again. This time it's slower, less desperate, more tender.

"Natalia..." he whispers, and she loves how he says his name.

"James..." she breathes.

They are not assassins now. They are not the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier. They can finally remove their armour and let their masks fall.

Now they are lovers. They are Natalia and James. Two people with a dark past, two people lost in a sea of half-remembered things. Two people who know each other's scars as perfectly as they know their own. Two people who have been hurt, broken, used. Two halves of a whole.

They were punished for their love once. Now, their love stronger than ever, is the time they do the punishing.

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Feedback is love xxx

By the way, feel free to suggest other titles for this fic.


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